


I want no more of you, and I am lying lying lying.

by kay_okay



Series: 8-bit fiction prompts [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Domestic, Fights, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Making Up, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:37:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5633644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_okay/pseuds/kay_okay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shouldn’t do it. He should wait, they should talk, later, when they’re both of sound mind and not vulnerable: bone-deep tired and craving a shared space of warmth and comfort and home. But he can’t stop himself, never could with Dan and doesn’t plan on doing that any time soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want no more of you, and I am lying lying lying.

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt from 8-bit fiction: http://8bitfiction.com/post/136168102000 -- "I want no more of you and I am lying, lying, lying, lying." 
> 
> this is a work of fiction. this is a fictional story about fictional representations of real people. none of the events are true. no profit was made from this work. unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.

Phil can tell Dan is mad because the spoon he’s using to stir his hot chocolate keeps hitting the side of his cup. It’s a rhythmic _clink clink clink clink_ against the porcelain before he hears him _clink_ it one last time along the rim and pound the spoon down on the counter. Phil looks out of the corner of his eye at Dan’s retreating back, jumps a little at the sound of his bedroom door slamming behind him.

Phil opens up the cupboard and looks at the gap on the mug shelf, deduces that Dan took the plain black mug, part of the set of two from Ikea. Further confirmation. Contrary to his usual fashion choices, Dan always goes for a bright mug when he’s in a good mood. Phil looks down on the counter and realizes off-handedly he took the other black one.

He wants to go and talk to Dan, push into his space because that’s what he does when Dan retreats. He goes in and finds him and extends his hand, waits until Dan’s ready to grasp it, and brings him back out to the light. But this time seems different. The fight was big, one of those that spirals out of control early on because feelings get hurt and as a result, things that aren’t meant get said and absolutely nothing gets accomplished. He can’t even remember what it was about now, at the core. 

Phil realizes he’s been stirring his coffee in the same position for at least two minutes, letting his thoughts take over his mind while his body completely checked out. He shakes his head and walks to the lounge, absently turning the TV on for lack of anything else to do. He keeps it on mute, one ear trained to Dan’s room subconsciously, listening for any signs of life. He unlocks his phone and browses Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, not really seeing any of it. Likes and reposts nothing. 

As hard as he’s trying to distract himself, he can’t stop thinking about their fight. He hates it, hates not communicating, hates the hollow, empty feeling he gets when this happens and he feels like he can’t do anything to fix it. He keeps browsing and finds himself on a relationship advice page, of all things. Starts reading the questions and answers from people and trying to plug himself into their situations. It provides little comfort when the person he wants to talk this all out with is just beyond the wall, just out of reach, probably similarly brooding and stewing in silence. 

Phil’s been sitting on the couch so long that the sun’s gone down, dark inky sky visible through the slatted blinds. The lounge is dim, the only light coming in from the streetlamps outside, as Phil couldn’t be bothered to turn on the lamp. Forget it, Phil thinks as he stands, because Dan’s had enough time now to sulk and let the overheated anger wash away. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’s going to say, just hoping he can roll with it when he sees Dan’s face and tell him how sorry he is, about all of it. About how he wants to talk it out and fix whatever they need to because it’s not even been two hours apart like this and Phil can’t think straight.

He doesn’t knock when he gets to Dan’s door, but still pushes it open softly instead of just barging in. Dan’s name is on the tip of his tongue but it gets caught when he glances at Dan. Rather, the lump on Dan’s bed that is softly breathing.

Dan’s burrowed himself in his covers, fetal position and on his side, facing the door. His eyelashes fan out across his ivory cheeks, fluttering a bit when the light from the hallway shines through the open door and onto his face. 

“Phil?” he murmurs drowsily, waking up slowly.

Dan likes to make silly faces in their videos, pull his head back until he’s got 15 chins or curl his lips up to bare all his teeth, but it’s the quiet moments, the ones like this that Dan doesn’t think about, that punch Phil in the gut. Phil watching Dan walk down the stairs to their front door, the side of his face just visible in the dark of the stairway as he looks at his feet, the moment he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back when he’s in the middle of a loud, genuine laugh, the slight glaze Dan’s eyes get when they’re alone, pressed close, lit only by moonlight. These moments of explosive beauty make Phil stop and stare, just breathe, unable to do much else.

Phil looks at him now, sleep-rumpled and climbing out of his blanket cave, can only muster an “Mm-hmm.”

Dan’s still half asleep, Phil can tell by his voice, but he pulls the blankets over and murmurs, “Come in,” sliding slowly to one side of the bed.

He shouldn’t do it. He should wait, they should talk, later, when they’re both of sound mind and not vulnerable: bone-deep tired and craving a shared space of warmth and comfort and home. But he can’t stop himself, never could with Dan and doesn’t plan on doing that any time soon.

Phil shuts the door soft behind him, sets his phone on the side table before he climbs in, his socked feet against Dan’s bare toes. He runs his palm up Dan’s arm when he lays it across Phil’s chest. Dan presses his face into Phil’s neck, mumbles about how cold Phil is and that he’ll try to warm him up.

They lay in silence for a long time, so long that Phil thinks Dan’s fallen back asleep. He thinks it’s safe to push the fingers of his free hand through Dan’s hair, smoothing out the soft strands and wondering to himself exactly what tomorrow morning will look like if they technically went to bed mad, a rule of theirs they swore not to break.

“I’m so sorry,” Dan says quietly into Phil’s skin, bringing him out of his thoughts, enough for Phil to stop the combing. “I’m sorry.”

Dan holds on tighter. Phil lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, presses his mouth down into Dan’s hair and kisses. “I’m sorry too, love.”

“I don’t want to fight. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t overreact. I get mad and then I say things I don’t mean, at all, and then everything in my head gets out of control. Sometimes I can’t help the things I say, but I’m trying. I’m really trying,” Phil feels Dan’s face get hotter and hotter as he goes on, but he always lets him finish his train of thought, no matter how far off track he gets. 

“Hey,” Phil says, gently pulling on Dan’s cheeks to sit him up a little, get him to eye-level so Phil can look at him properly. “Don’t put so much blame on yourself. I said things I didn’t mean, too.”

Dan’s eyes look bright in the dark, shiny with worry and Phil hates it. They were so angry not two hours ago and that all seems so trivial now, stupid and inconsequential and completely unnecessary. Phil rubs the pads of his thumbs across the apples of Dan’s cheeks, pulls him in close and kisses the soft patch of skin between his eyebrows. “Let’s sleep now, okay?”

Dan smiles, small but genuine, and nods. Phil scoots them further down into the heap of blankets, Dan pulling up the edge to tuck around their shoulders. Talking can wait until tomorrow, but for now Phil makes sure they follow another one of their rules before they both fall softly into sleep.

“Love you, bear.”

“Love you, too.”


End file.
